


Breaking the Monotony

by theRougeChevalier



Category: Sherlock (TV), Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: American Revolution, British Officer Sherlock, Colonist John, Espionage, M/M, Teasers & Trailers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 20:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2322038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theRougeChevalier/pseuds/theRougeChevalier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>British Officer Sherlock Holmes is bored to death of suppressing colonist traitors, until the night he meets one worth investigating....  Teaser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking the Monotony

“Dull’ Sherlock thought as he trudged down the streets of the colonial ‘city’, if one could even call it a city, known as New York. It was nothing at all like his beloved London, he thought as he slogged through mud and slush. London was the largest city in the world, the streets always bustling with people from all over coming there to trade, and Sherlock had discovered that where there was an abundance of people and a disparity in wealth, there was crime. 

 

Fortuitous circumstance for a consulting detective. London was his playground; all the excitement he could ever need right at his fingertips and now he was exiled to some gods forsaken colony, in some pitiful excuse for a city. Certainly Mycroft must have thought that the new setting provided by his being forcibly commissioned into the officer’s corp of the British Army was supposed to be adequate amusement. Really it was just adding insult to injury, how he was supposed to find any sort of amusement in such a place was beyond him? 

 

Winter was coming on hard even in early November here in this part of the colonies. He thought for certain it must never get this cold in London. Although he could not claim that as a quantitative truth since he was not current on London’s weather patterns. It was not high on his list of priorities for his mind palace. He couldn’t even find suitable drugs to distract his racing mind in this hovel carved from wilderness. Certainly there was some crime, but usually petty and dealt with in the dramatic puritanical way Sherlock had come to associate with the majority of colonists he had come to meet. Dull…

 

His work in his majesty’s army was only slightly interesting. Espionage was his brother’s specialty and yet it would seem a skill that the British army was in dire need of. Sherlock amused himself with imagining what Mycroft would say and do if he were here to see the operational mess that was New York and the ranks of his majesty’s finest. He liked to imagine Mycroft’s face white with shock, then red with rage, or more hilariously, head hung in shame as he bared a beratement from Father Holmes, or better yet the King himself for the appalling state of things. But as Mycroft liked to boast he was but a “minor” official not the minister of defense, and as such nothing would be his fault only his matter to clean up which he would do so, efficiently, with a wave of the hand as his minions hustle to make it so. 

 

And yet here Sherlock was in his stead for surely the Empire could not go on if Mycroft were not there to micromanage every aspect of political relations in the capital. Some believed Mycroft sent him because he could trust no one else to the task and many of the other soldiers resented him thinking him to be the eyes and ears of authority. But the truth was Mycroft had sent him here to teach him a lesson and supposedly to keep him out of trouble. In effect he’d been exiled. One too many relapses bringing shame on the Holmes name, supposedly. 

 

He liked to call his brother stupid, but truly Mycroft’s punishment was acutely horrible meaning his brother was not so much a fool as he thought, more’s the bother. Now he was cursed to work alongside the fastidious and controlling Major John Andre in army counterintelligence. 

 

However as the continental army was sadly lacking in anything that could be considered a tangible intelligence gathering threat, there was not much to be done, so his days were spent fulfilling the whims of Major Andre, which usually involved cultivating sources and schmoozing with other officers, two things which Sherlock detested. Dull… 

 

And as per the norm when Sherlock was bored he had a tendency to get himself into trouble and on this particular occasion found himself relegated to patrol for having given a rather public dressing down of an officer Andre had intended on setting up to oust an opponent in another regiment. He had no patience for politics and he hadn’t been out on assignment in weeks, he was better suited to undercover work, but either Andre was a sadist, likely, or Mycroft had given specific instructions regarding what Sherlock would be allowed to do in his service to the crown, also highly probable. But it was hardly Sherlock’s fault the man was a polygamist and a thief, really you think Andre would be pleased to have so much dirt on the man. 

 

Now Boston, he had heard Boston was the only city in these blasted colonies worth the name, crime and disorder ran amuk in the port city and it was said the revolution was bred there amongst such vagary. Boston would have been a playground much more desirable for Sherlock and his brilliant mind, but alas the British had been pushed out over a year ago and had not managed to gain much ground in the Northern colonies, especially with winter coming on hard even here in New York. 

 

And so he patrolled walking along side his counterpart on patrol, terribly dull man, meant to keep the rabble off the streets and the citizenry behind locked doors as curfew approached. The night was cold to Sherlock, but more temperate than recent temperatures, thus the squelching slush underneath his boots. They were passing by the tavern laden district near the port barracks which meant encountering more troops and townsmen stumbling drunk in and out of each tavern and whorehouse looking for warmth of varying kinds. Sherlock allowed his eyes to roam over the many bodies wandering the streets deducing at will, but every deduction was rote and dull. He lived in perpetual hope of deducing something interesting, something worth further investigation. 

 

At that moment a brawl broke out between a couple of low level foot soldiers, obviously drunk and obviously disagreeing over whose company the whore in question preferred. Sherlock’s counterpart on patrol hustled over to break it up, but Sherlock simply stood for a moment and heaved a put upon sigh. Both men would be lucky not to lie with the woman as she was obviously suffering from some form of venereal disease, oh... and a pickpocket to boot. 

 

Similar scenarios happened every time he was on patrol. He stepped forward to help his fellow break it up and soon with a few sharp words and a swift left hook they were escorting the two foot soldiers to the brig. As they led the two men down the slick streets, steering them as they wobbled too and fro mumbling nonsense one of them jostled a passer by who stumbled and in doing so tripped up Lieutenant Baxter (Mr. Dull himself). “Watch it you fool!” He shouted whether he was addressing the prisoner or the passer by was unclear, but as the passerby had been knocked to kneeling in the snow by the whole ordeal Sherlock believed he was probably the more affronted in the exchange. As his eyes traveled over the passer by his mind went spinning, whirring away deducing in ways it hadn’t in a long while. 

 

Worn traveling coat, patched boots, but serviceable shirt and breeches. Not well off then, but diligent in the upkeep of his kit. Although Sherlock would bet money the cloak was not his as it was a size too big on the man’s compact frame. The man kept his eyes to the ground as he mumbled apologies his face hidden by his tri corner hat, but Sherlock could tell by the set of his shoulders and the sureness in his limbs as he climbed to his feet that this man was not afraid in the slightest of rebuke from the Lieutenant. His reaction was carefully crafted no doubt to give the guard the impression he wanted and make himself practically invisible in the process. As the man moved to get to his feet, Sherlock devoured every movement, deductions each more interesting than the last littering the halls of his mind palace eagerly awaiting categorizing. 

 

Injury, in the shoulder, from battle, but not a British soldier, a continental then. He held himself as though he might have a leg injury as well, but his leg held his weight easily, psychosomatic then, but dormant under stress. He was hiding something. It was then that the man spared a glance up at Sherlock and Sherlock’s brain stuttered to a stop at the captivating coloring and chiseled jaw line of the stranger before him. He was handsome, but obviously had skill in making himself seem plain and unnoticeable. So struck was he by the man’s odd set of characteristics and skills he almost missed the slight, “Apologies sir, excuse me.” 

 

As the man shouldered by Sherlock Lieutenant Baxter called out after him telling him to get indoors before curfew and watch where we he was going lest he hurt someone, but that was when Sherlock caught sight of the man’s hands disappearing into the folds of his cloak a basket in his hands, carrying eggs…. 

 

‘Hmm?,’ Sherlock thought as he watched the man scurry down the street into the darkness, New York just got a little more interesting....

**Author's Note:**

> This one is just a teaser a bit of a crossover with Turn. I may write more; time, interest, and muse permitting. But I hope you enjoy the premise at least! Pairing is not explicit, but definitely potential. I love Johnlock don't get me wrong, but am wondering if this particularly story idea might work better with a female original character though?


End file.
